


Mercy

by yespolkadot_kitty



Series: Love Letters to Mr Cavill [8]
Category: British Actor RPF, Henry Cavill - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Married Sex, Roleplay, a lot of nonsense really, smutty fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24698434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: From a Tumblr request for more "Henry bangs you in Geralt costume."
Relationships: Henry Cavill/Reader
Series: Love Letters to Mr Cavill [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767346
Comments: 4
Kudos: 92





	Mercy

HENRY: Wait for me tonight - be naked in bed. Wear a blindfold.

You almost choked on your tea when you read that text. Kal looked up from his position at your feet, tail lifting in question.

You stroked him with your free hand. “I’m fine, baby.” The akita placed his head back on his paws, content.

Ever since the night Henry had come home in Geralt costume, he’d become gradually more adventurous, and it made your heart sing that, after two years together, you were exploring your sexuality together. You gave Kal one last pat and went to search your wardrobe for a suitable blindfold.

*******

Much later, when the moon hung high in the sky, Henry killed the engine and locked the car, looking up at the front of the house you shared. A single light was on in the bedroom. Good, you were still awake. He hadn’t meant to be this late, but a re-shoot was needed after Joey ripped his pant leg on some bushes.

He opened the door to the kitchen to check on Kal. The big dog snoozed loudly in his fluffy basket, a toy clutched in his paws, doggy snores making Henry grin.

Softly he climbed the stairs, not wanting to give away how much he was wearing. If she heard the clink of the armour, well-

“Sweetheart?” he called out.

“I’m here, Henry,” she called back, and he felt his cock twitch in his pants just at her voice. When he turned in to the bedroom, he saw her, snuggled under the covers, the blindfold on, her rosy lips curved in a soft smile. The glow from the bedside lamp kissed the curve of her cheeks, the roundness of her shoulder, the hollow at the base of her throat.

Leaving the light on, he eased himself on to the bed, drawing out the soft strip of leather he’d borrowed from the costume department on set. He dropped a kiss on those lovely ruby lips and then eased her hands out from under the covers. “I’m just going to make sure you can’t escape.”

She laughed softly. “Why would I want to?”

Henry gently encircled her wrists and tied them to one of the metal poles in the iron headboard. “Because…” he lowered his voice an octave, and then gently eased up her blindfold, trepidation and arousal warring inside him in case she wasn’t pleased - “some fear being at the mercy of a Witcher.”

*******

The Blindfold released and you opened your eyes to see Henry as Geralt, kneeling over your body, his hair pulled back from his face, eyes blazing blue, his face set in hard lines, his shoulders huge in the leather armour. “Oh, my…” you purred, kicking the covers off you as best you could beneath his spread legs. He looked  _ enormous _ in Geralt’s leather armour, gloves, tunic and breeches, and you felt yourself growing wet. “I am quite at your mercy.”

You saw the faintest hint of relief pass over his face before he settled back into character. “If you please me, maybe I won’t feed you to the kikimora when dawn comes.”

His growly voice made your shiver with want. “Please,” you murmured, arching your back.

Henry/Geralt purred low in his throat and then stretched out on top of you, the leather warm and supple against your naked skin. He started to slowly grind against you as his mouth found your breast, latching on and swirling his tongue around your nipple like it was the most decadent ice cream. You lifted your legs and wrapped them around his hips. The edges of his leather tunic cut into your inner thighs a little, but the small hurt intensified the pleasure of feeling him buck against you.

“Oh, my Little Wren,” he murmured in that growly, perfect Geralt baritone, “You make me insatiable.”

Beyond speech, you just groaned as he moved to your other breast, playing with the already hard nipple with his gloved hand, until you shivered from the sensation.

You were a sobbing mess underneath him, feeling your own juices on your thighs, before Henry/Geralt moved down your body and hooked your legs over his shoulders, spreading you to his gaze. “Beautiful Little Wren,” he murmured as he set his mouth to you. Just a few swipes of his clever tongue and you were writhing, being tied up only adding to the frantic build of the knot of pleasure in your belly.

Just as you hovered on the edge, Henry pulled back, his chin shiny wet. You bucked up into nothing, your eyes demanding explanation.

“I want you to come around me,” Henry/Geralt growled, and you watched helplessly as he unlaced his breeches, pulling his cock out. It looked impossibly bigger against the black leathers and breeches, and your mouth watered. He must have noticed your interest, because he straddled your shoulders, offering it to you.

You took his invitation greedily, lapping at the swollen head of him, devouring the taste, until he swore and pulled back, shaking his head.

“My Little Wren, what you do to me,” he murmured, trailing his lips down your belly, and then in the next breath he was inside, the leather of his costume heavy against your breasts as he bottomed out, bracing himself on one hand while using the other to traced soft, gloved circles on your already-sensitive clit.

You came with a sobbing cry as he upped the tempo, muttering a clutter of  _ fuck _ and  _ Oh Christ, sweetheart, _ as your muscles fluttered around him. “Can’t-”

And he came, too, with a hoarse groan into your neck, his hips stuttering a few times as he gave you his all, collapsing on you with a heavy, satisfied sigh.

After a minute he freed your hands, and you wrapped your arms around his broad back, breathing in the scent of him, clean soap, woodsmoke, and cedar. 

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice his own again.

“And does that mean you  _ won’t _ feed me to the kikimora at dawn?” you teased, and he laughed against your skin.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

  
  



End file.
